


Sweet Dreams and Darkness

by DaninNotrona



Category: Aveyond
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Friendship, Gyendal has had it with everything and everyone, Humor, Multi, Other, daevas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2020-12-16 15:40:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21038615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaninNotrona/pseuds/DaninNotrona
Summary: The Darkthrop Prophecy has yet to be fulfilled, even after the events of TDP. Dark things move in the shadows, demons prepare for a final push, and forces shift to make way for a new order. Meanwhile, Saurva and Agas argue about hammocks. Features a genderfluid Saurva.





	1. Chapter 1

**~1~**

Saurva laid back on the hammock stretched between two gnarled trees. The sky, a purple and nebulous haze above, swirled in patterns of clouds not seen anywhere else in the world.

It was the little things, Saurva thought. Defeat, imprisonment, decay as his captor fell ill and perished, the long, agonizing process of filtering back into the demon world proper as his prison dimension collapsed, all terrible, just awful, of course. But the little things. The little things made it all right.

Clang clang clang!

A hammer to metal rang out through the clearing. Saurva jumped and nearly fell out of the hammock. To his dismay, Agas stood at the edge of the clearing, and in his hand was a large stewpot.

“Wake up, fool, we’ve been summoned.”

Saurva blinked as memories of chains and runes and terrible ripping sensations poured through his mind. He looked at his hands. They stayed intact, marble-white and ghoulish as ever.

“Not that kind of summoned,” Agas said, lowering the hammer to Saurva’s great relief, “The town has called a meeting.”

“Oh,” Saurva said, then he frowned, “We’re going to that? Have you lost your self-respect? Bowing to the lesser demons now?”

Saurva slipped out of the hammock, which twirled up behind him. Agas glanced at it and then gave a withering look to Saurva.

“You’d be better served in the town keeping busy than languishing out here.” He laughed without an ounce of emotion, “Imagine if you were summoned now, for real. Who would tremble, I wonder, at Saurva, Daeva of Slacking?”

Saurva had half a mind to march up to Agas, seize the stewpot and bash it over his stupid head a few times and then ask who was languishing, but the last time they’d sparred it ended with Agas’ tongue nailed to a board and Saurva with a pie fork in his chest, and he’d rather not give Agas the opportunity to make that end the other way around.

“You’re living in a fantasy world, Agas,” Saurva said, walking over to him and eyeing the stewpot, “Anyone who would have summoned us is long dead. I’m quite sure we’ve been forgotten over there.”

Agas lowered the stewpot and sighed through his nose.

“We fought against a queen. Surely someone would have written that down.”

Saurva shook his head at his old colleague and put his hand on the fellow’s shoulder.

“Face up to reality, chap, there’s nothing left to do here but scare lesser demons and slack. You might want to try it sometime.”

Agas shook Saurva’s hand off.

“I’d be destroyed before I did that.”

“Unbeing is a marvelous time to slack, I’ll give you that.”

Agas’ face scrunched up into a ferocious look, but Saurva knew it was the one he wore when he was struggling not to smile. Saurva grinned, and then cursed internally as Agas’ eyes softened in his thunderstorm face, and he turned to go with her towards the town.

Making jokes with Agas always made Saurva feel like a girl.

The two of them wound through the trail of dead trees, and Saurva let herself fall into the feeling. Her body weight shifted, her anatomy changed. She ran her hands through her hair and shook it out. It grew longer, and glossier. She’d been comfortable as a man, but the shifts came when they came, and as she kept walking, she found this form even more comfortable now.

Agas gave her a side eye, and then hurriedly looked away. Saurva smiled to herself. Her comrade’s bewilderment at her fluidity never quite got old. Bewilderment combined with carrying a stewpot was new, though.

“What is this meeting about, anyway?” she asked, “Redistricting? Have the imps finally gotten tired of the ghouls eating their dead? Do we have to intervene?”

She drew a little fire into her hand and danced it across her fingers.

“I haven’t heard the specifics,” Agas said, “But there was word of a new prophecy that may involve some of us.”

Saurva snapped the fire out.

“Ah. Marvelous.”

A bolt of terror shot through her at the thought of another span in a summoner’s prison.

“We’ve been forgotten, remember? You have nothing to worry about,” Agas said, with a wry little smile that twenty seconds ago would have made Saurva laugh. In silence, they made their way down the rest of the path.

They reached the town and found a massive gathering of demons crowding around the square. Saurva took a deep breath.

“Here’s hoping.”

0~0~0

“The meeting will now commence!” cried a large ghoul on a rickety platform. He raised a hammer and banged on a gong next to him. The sound slammed into the ears of every demon for a mile and everyone from the chattering pyxies to the moaning wights shut up. Saurva covered her ears and Agas winced.

“So!” the ghoul said, voice rising louder over the new silence, still ringing with the last tones of the gong, “Some of you may be aware of our new arrival!”

Saurva raised an eyebrow.

“New arrival? I hadn’t heard anything about a new arrival.”

Agas kept his eyes forward on the platform.

“That tends to happen when you spend your time sleeping in a hammock in the woods instead of keeping up with the news.”

A murmur went over the crowd as two darklings dragged a gagged and bound man bleeding heavily from a wound in his chest onto the platform. The ghoul raised him up by the back of his shirt, letting his legs dangle. He was pale, pallor almost deathly. If he hadn’t been gushing red down his front, Saurva might have thought he was a vampire. The ghoul shook him around a little, and his head bobbed, eyes fluttering.

“He’s going to kill him before we even hear what the news is about,” Saurva muttered. Agas snorted in response.

“This,” the ghoul cried, “Is a human!”

More whispers from the crowd. Saurva swore she saw the man, even in his state, open his eyes enough to give the ghoul an offended glance.

“He comes on the tail of Mordred Darkthrop’s departure and Mel Darkthrop’s break from our pacts!”

Saurva blinked.

“Mordred Darkthrop left?”

Leaving the demon realm was no easy feat, especially for a mortal. Agas still kept his eyes fixed on the platform.

“Burn your hammock, why don’t you, and then I won’t have to answer as many stupid questions.”

“The Darkthrop Prophecy,” the ghoul continued, “has been fulfilled, according to the mortals on the other plane!”

A chorus of booing. The wounded man’s head dropped, chin to chest.

“I know, I know,” the ghoul said, “grave tidings for those of us hoping for a way out of here. But not all is lost.”

The ghoul set down the wounded man.

“With the arrival of this fellow,” he said, giving the man a kick, eliciting a sharp gasp of pain from him that made even some of the demons cringe, “comes the start of a new approach.”

The ghoul drew himself up to his full height, and began to speak like a herald, and full of himself to the brim.

“Our Oracle has declared the prophecy closed, but only tenuously. Mel Darkthrop took control of the world on a technicality, and ruled none of it of her own accord. If we act, the pieces may yet fall into place!”

Large sections of the crowd burst into a hopeful roar. The ghoul waved his arms at them.

“Settle down, settle down. The Oracle will come soon to give us more information. Until then it will be the task of one of us to tend to this sack of flesh.” He gestured to the man, “She has deemed him... important.”

A number of demons with long, sharp teeth grinned and began to drool. Saurva eyed them with skepticism and leaned towards Agas.

“Agas, refresh my memory. What is this Darkthrop Prophecy?”

Agas finally glanced at her.

“A few human centuries ago, someone prophecised that a Darkthrop - a member of Mordred’s line - would rule the world.”

“And why do we care?”

Agas folded his arms.

“Because demons get excited about mortals favorable towards us ruling on the other side. I don’t know.”

A large monster that looked similar to Aesma spoke up next to them.

“It’s because people of the Darkthrop lineage have the capability to establish a stable portal to and from this realm that we can pass through without having to be summoned by or bound to anyone.”

Both Agas and Saurva’s gazes snapped to this fellow.

“Pardon?” Agas said, and the demon began to repeat himself word for word.

“So, who wants him, huhhhhhhh?” the ghoul crooned. Saurva noticed a pack of hungry-looking demons moving towards the front. Most of them were not part of the crowd that cheered. Saurva pointed their way.

“They’re going to eat him, aren’t they?”

Agas glanced up from the other demon and seemed to notice the possibility for the first time.

“But why would they-?” He frowned in thought, and Saurva could see him putting together what was going on, but not quickly enough. One of the demons who didn’t cheer aimed a massive bite at one of the ones who did. A shriek split the crowd. The ghoul on the platform grinned and leaned forward in interest.

Saurva watched the attack send ripples through the gathering. This could only get uglier from here. Resolved, Saurva stood up taller than the crowd and called,

“I’ll take him!”

Every head in the square turned towards her. Some of the smallest demons slinked away as they realized a daeva stood among them. Whispers broke out. Those who had been approaching the platform snarled. The ghoul’s lumpy eyebrows shot up his head as he saw her.

“Ohoho, Saurva, it is an honor!”

Saurva nodded in acknowledgment.

“Grant his keeping to me, ghoul, I will ensure he is well tended.”

The ghoul swept a bow and stepped aside. She took a step forward, and the crowd parted before her, some begrudgingly, but most in hurried terror. She crossed the square, stepped up onto the platform in one stride and picked up the man, now unconscious, and slung him over her shoulder. He was light (no doubt from hunger) and wiry in a way few humans were.

“Shame you stopped the show,” the ghoul said once she was next to him. She didn’t spare him any attention, eliciting a frown from him, and stepped off again once the man was secure. She marched right back to Agas. He stared at her, flabbergasted.

“Come, I think we’re done here,” she said, and started back into the forest. Agas hurried after her, and matched her stride. Once they were a few turns down the path, away from the crowd, he turned to her.

“What in the world is this about?” he asked, staring at the unconscious man now bleeding down Saurva’s tunic.

“Agas, you had to have seen how fast that would have escalated if no one intervened.”

“Yes, but why are you intervening? You’ve set lesser demons on fire for fun!”

Saurva shrugged.

“He’s important to a prophecy. That won’t come to pass if he gets torn to shreds.”

Agas looked away, gears turning in his head. Saurva went on,

“Pretty quick thinking on my part back there, wouldn’t you say? They just about ate their only hope of walking freely out of here.”

It clicked for him. After a moment, Agas grunted.

“You don’t know that. The Oracle just said he was important.”

They walked in silence save for the sound of their own footfalls and the occasional faint groan from their parcel.

They made the last turn back to Saurva’s clearing.

“You know,” she continued, “such astuteness of mind tends to come from being well rested. You should try it some time. Maybe invest in a hammock?”

Agas scoffed.

"Saurva, I would rather die."


	2. Chapter 2

~2~

Their parcel, as it turned out, was in just as bad shape as he appeared to be. Once they made it to the clearing, Saurva swung him off her shoulder and set him down against a tree trunk to get a look at him. Bags under his eyes, skin deathly gray, and still more blood oozing out over the caked black wound, he looked like a corpse in every aspect except for his continued bleeding and breath.

“Well,” Agas said, arms crossed, “He’s quite a catch, isn’t he? I’m so glad we brought him all this way.”

“Shut up,” Saurva said, tenor of his voice surprising him. He’d shifted back into male form without realizing it.

“No, no, nonono,” the man said suddenly, eyes flying open, but blind, hands clawing at the phantoms before him, “Give it back, give it back!”

Saurva leaned out of his reach.

“He’ll be dead in another moment or two,” Agas said, putting a thoughtful hand on his chin, “Should I go fetch Zarich and see if we can coax some life into his bones afterwards? He might make a good zombie.”

“Capital idea,” Saurva replied, “And I’m sure you have a plan to explain to the Oracle why we turned her prophecy child into a brainless shamble that won’t end with us both on a spit.”

As he looked at the gasping mortal before him, though, he worried that Agas might be right. Some centuries ago, Saurva spent a decade researching the anatomy of mortals. It gave him an edge in trying to kill them. Because of it, he could know for certain that this man’s wound was fatal, but he wasn’t exactly sure how to fix it.

Saurva sat back and racked his brain for healing spells that might also work on a mortal. He remembered a simple soothing and diagnostic spell from one of the more benevolent books he’d read, and placed his hands on either side of the man’s head. He hesitated.

“Get OFF!” the man screamed suddenly, voice echoing around the clearing. He struggled against Saurva’s grip, clawing at his wound as if to pull something invisible out of it.

Saurva held on tight to the man’s temples and mana flowed through his fingertips and connected to the skull. At the contact of magic, the man froze. For a moment, Saurva could feel the network of his nervous system like an extension of his body, bright, cool and vivid like a glowing root. The intricacies of his torn flesh fanned out from it. Saurva grimaced. He couldn’t quite feel it the way the man could, but he could feel its echo, and it wasn’t pleasant.

The spell built, and the man’s eyes suddenly came into focus. He blinked at Saurva, then at Agas, and seemed to register both of them at once. None of them moved. Then he looked down at his own wound.

Saurva felt secondhand the bolt of revulsion and panic that went through him. He looked back up at the daevas, a million questions burning in his face, but he didn’t have the strength to ask them.

“Don’t move,” Saurva said, fingers still planted on his temples, “If you want to live, be still, be quiet, and let me patch you up.”

The man seemed to understand. He relaxed his limbs, but his heart still pounded. Agas snorted. Saurva shot him a nasty look.

There was nothing else for it. Saurva would try the least demon-specific healing spell he knew and hope for the best. Lowering one hand from the man’s face, he gingerly pressed his fingers against the edges of the wound. The man’s eyes shot open and he screamed. The pain exploded into Saurva’s abdomen, too, and he threw himself back, breaking the connection. The man’s cries grew louder, and he writhed against the tree.

“Agas, hold him down,” Saurva said, closing in on the man. Agas darted behind the tree, knelt down, then grabbed the mans arms and pulled him fast against the trunk. A cold sweat broke out on the man’s forehead, his teeth iron-clenched. Saurva squinted at the wound, regaining focus. Sinews and nerves needed stitching together, and a grazed bone needed mending.

Slowly he inserted his fingers back into the wound, ignoring the shouts of the man. He cast the spell, and the warm, clear feeling of healing magic hummed under his fingertips with a white-gold glow. Saurva spread the spell into the man’s flesh, trying to knit the wound as he went. The deepest tear in the tissue swelled and filled in. The bone shuddered and the cut flaked off, the white underneath smooth as new. Saurva snatched and discarded the flake, and allowed himself a small smile.

It was working.

The flesh filled in, and then Saurva eased the skin back together, tracing the seam. Once, like pushing two pieces of dough together. Twice, like combining two pieces of clay. A third time, like rubbing a scuff from a piece of leather. Then it was done.

The man gasped in relief, and Agas released him. He trembled, dripping with sweat. Dark hair fell in greasy pieces around his eyes, and his shirt was still clogged with blood, but his breathing evened and he looked up at Saurva, disbelief in his face.

“Well, that worked,” Saurva said, feeling relief along with the mortal sod.

“Bravo,” Agas said, walking around to the front of the tree again, “Now we have a living lump to take care of. What’s your name, lad?”

The man gave a weak, weary look up at him.

“I don’t see how it matters anymore. Gyendal Ravenfoot is dead.”

Then his eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed into Saurva’s arms.

Saurva lifted Gyendal’s head and Agas lifted his feet,

"See," Saurva said as they dropped him into the hammock, “Imagine if we had burned this.”


End file.
